An updated version, fixed up some of the mistakes. Enjoy!
...xXx...
Germany sighed, shifting his brother's weight across his shoulders. "I can't believe he passed out on the plane."
"Really?" France raised an eyebrow, pulling the silver-haired man's arm tighter around his neck as the two of them lugged the man down the hotel hallway. "It surprises you that Prussia got bored at the world meeting, drank all of Norway's wine coolers, partied the entire flight over here, and passed out? And I thought you two were brothers."
"Shut up," Germany growled. "I meant the fact that he passed out after begging me to take him to Hungary's birthday party."
"Well, you Germans can hold your beer, but not your vodka."
Germany rolled his tired blue eyes, shuffling his brother's weight onto the Frenchman for the moment as he pulled out a key card and unlocked the room they were standing in front of. They squeezed through the doorway, grunting with the effort of carrying the dead weight that was the Prussian. They went over to the bed in the middle of the room and laid the man down, both stretching their backs in relief afterward.
Germany sighed, running his fingers through his smooth blonde locks. "Why is he always so troublesome? Hungary's party is in a few hours."
France shook his head. "Mon ami, maybe he was just nervous."
"Nervous?" The German turned to him, raising a golden eyebrow. "What would mein bruder have to be nervous about?"
"Well, this is Hungary we are talking about. They practically grew up together, remember? Not to mention—" The Frenchman gave him a lewd smile and reached inside his trouser's pocket, pulling out a small, black box. He waved the velvet covered piece at him. "This is why."
Germany's eyes widened in surprise as he grabbed the box. He opened it slowly and, sure enough, there was a ring settled into a fold amongst the velvet. Half the ring was studded with diamonds, a larger one placed in the middle, and there was something engraved on the inside in Hungarian.
He looked back at the still smiling France. "He's going to propose?"
The blonde hummed at him happily, taking the box back and placing it on a nearby desk. "I guess it's a good thing he had me hold onto it, no?" The Frenchman sighed, glancing up into the bewildered German's face. He waved his hand at him playfully. "Go on now; go get some rest before the party. Since I actually managed to catch some sleep on the plane I will stay and make sure Gilbert gets up later, okay?"
Germany eyed the man suspiciously, grimacing.
France caught the look and pouted. "What? You don't trust me?
"No, actually, I don't."
The Frenchman sighed melodramatically, waving at him again. "Don't worry, I've known Gilbert long enough that I know what he'd do if he found out I was touching him in his sleep. So go on, shoo, shoo. Go take a nap with little Italy or something."
"Why you—" The German stopped, exhaling in frustration and exhaustion. "Never mind. I'll meet you in the lobby in a few hours then." With that, he turned around and left the room.
France glanced down at the unconscious Prussian, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth.
…xXx…
Consciousness came back to him slowly, his thoughts being pulled away from somewhere dark and peaceful. He tried to take in a deep breath, but soon found that he couldn't. The silver-haired man groaned and tried to roll over, wanting nothing more than to fall back asleep. He couldn't roll over either, though.
What? he thought sluggishly. He tried again but to no avail.
Officially awake, Prussia opened his eyes, having to blink several times before his vision cleared. Once his eyes were focused, he spotted something in front of his nose. It was long, thick, and white with a splash of grey at the end. Beyond that were the sheets of the bed he was on.
His eyes narrowed in confusion. Was this a hallucination? He moved his hand to reach out and touch whatever the thing was, but froze when he did.
That's not my hand. "What the—"
He was staring at a bright and shiny silver hoof, long white hair dangling around it.
"W-What the hell?!" Jumping out of his skin, he sprung up off of the bed, but found himself on all fours, another hoof appearing next to the first against the carpet. He panicked and reared, trying to back away when the hooves waved wildly at him. A loud crash sounded as the nearby desk chair toppled over and, as his feet tangled in the bed sheets, he followed.
Prussia huffed, taking a moment to calm himself. Standing up again carefully, he balanced himself on all fours.
I must be dreaming, he thought in desperation.
Glancing around the room, the Prussian spotted a blonde man standing in the corner. "France!" he called, a bit relieved as he rushed over to the country. Stopping in front of him, he had to lower his head to be able to look him in the eye. When did he get so short?
The Frenchman's eyes were wide, his voice hoarse with surprise. "Mon dieu . . ."
"What happened to me?!" he demanded.
"Gilbert." France's hands went up to cover his face in dismay. "Oh mon dieu, Gilbert . . . You—You're a horse!"
"A what?!" Prussia gasped, his breath blowing the man's blonde hair back. He snorted, not quite willing to believe his best friend. He quickly went into the nearby bathroom, shoulders scraping through the edges of the doorway. He kept his head down for a moment, taking a steady breath before raising his gaze to the mirror.
A stark white stallion with large crimson eyes stared back at him.
His heart thumped against his ribcage painfully and he shook his head, a shimmering white and silver mane cascading down his broad, grey muzzle that was his nose. His lengthy mane trailed down his long neck, draping past is shoulder, and two pointy white ears poked through the hair atop his head. He turned his body cautiously in the confined space and craning his neck ever so slightly, glancing in the mirror down his back at a tail sprouting from his behind.
"What the fuck . . !"
His tail swished back and forth with his outburst, freaking him out even more.
How in the world did I turn into a goddamn horse?!
His mind was whirling as he tried to remember the previous night. He had been on a plane with his brother, France, and Italy, he remembered. Before that he had been at a world meeting at—oh, where was it? Sweden? Denmark? No. It was . . . Norway! That's where it was! Yeah, he remembered now—he had been drinking the man's wine coolers that were in the fridge.
Prussia squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember further.
He took another swig of the alcohol, letting it burn down his throat. He licked his lips, not used to the exotic taste of the drink. It wasn't that bad, pretty tasty actually, but he would have preferred a beer instead. But no, there was no beer in the refrigerator, just a bunch of wine coolers.
A hand clapped down on his shoulder, catching his attention. He turned to see Norway looking at him with that blank expression of his. Prussia gave a grin and pointed at the bottle in his hand. "What brand is this, man?" he asked. "I mean, it's pretty awesome—not as awesome as me—but I don't think I've ever had it before."
"I wouldn't drink that if I were you," the Nordic murmured.
He brushed off the comment and grabbed two more bottles from the fridge before heading back towards the meeting room. "Nah, the awesome me will be fine."
Norway sighed and followed him. "Suit yourself."
Prussia's eyes snapped open in realization. Heart racing, he backed out of the bathroom quickly and trotted over to France, who was still staring at him in shock.
"Francis, snap out of it!" he exclaimed, huffing at the man. "It was the wine coolers I drank at Norway's house! They turned me into a horse."
France blinked at him and tentatively reached out a hand, laying his palm against the bridge of his silver snout. "I wonder how this happened," he mused, seeming in awe.
Prussia scoffed at him, rolling his eyes. "What are you talking about? I just said that it's Norway's fault."
The Frenchman hummed, petting his nose—which kind of tickled. "Hmm, you haven't been around England lately. And he has a cold, so he wasn't at the meeting yesterday."
"What? It wasn't—"
The Prussian paused, a realization forming in his mind. He decided to try it out.
"Francey-pants," he said, staring at the blonde intently.
No reaction. He just kept rubbing his nose.
He took it a step further. "Hey! Froggy face!"
Silence.
He can't understand me. A new kind of panic began to seep into him, icing over his veins. His front legs stamped anxiously and he hissed out, "Come on, man! Answer me, please."
The Prussian swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and took a step back, pulling out of the man's touch. This can't be happening, he thought despairingly.
France snapped his fingers, understanding dawning in his baby blues. "It must have been Norway," he proclaimed. "He's the only crazy fool nowadays that practices magic besides that bastard England."
Prussia rolled his eyes half-heartedly again, huffing.
France's gaze drifted to the side for a second and he gasped, beginning to rush around the room. "Ah, merde, I totally forgot about Hungary's party!"
The Prussian froze. That's right, Lizzie's birthday is today. Her birthday—I was going to propose today. His eyes roamed around the room until they stopped at the desk beside him, spotting a small black box resting there. A wave of sadness immediately washed over him and he leaned down, pushing the box across the wood a few centimeters with his nose.
Can this day get any worse?
Hungary and him had been going out for several months now. It was never made official that she was his girlfriend, but after hundreds of years of knowing her, he'd finally plucked up the courage to ask her to dinner. He'd been so nervous that she would refuse—but of course he was too awesome to let it show. Much. That vase knocked over itself, really.
But the woman had gladly accepted, smiling that wonderful smile at him. They'd had a great time—he'd gone all out, making it classy and whatnot—and Hungary had actually suggested that they'd do it again.
After months of going to restaurants, movie theatres, carnivals, and parks, they had gradually gotten closer to each other. Not that he wasn't already head over heels for her, though he would never admit it to anyone, not even to her. All those times when they were younger where he fought for her—sure, it had partly been for his own benefit—but it was also to make sure that she didn't get hurt. Even if she could defend herself—Jesus, that woman was terrifying on the battlefield.
But, ever since that time he'd accidentally groped her chest and discovered that the Hungary was, in fact, a girl, he'd gradually fallen more and more in love with her as time went on.
So he'd bought her a ring, hoping for a happy life together since he wasn't a country anymore.
But no. Life always found a way to bite him in the ass.
At least it was creative this time.
Prussia felt a hand pat his neck but he didn't turn his gaze away from the black velvet box. "What am I going to do now?" he wondered aloud. It wasn't like anyone could hear him anyway.
France seemed to understand the sigh that followed. "Gilbert, I think I have an idea." The horse's ear twitched in the man's direction, but other than that he didn't react.
The silver-maned horse heard the Frenchman step away from him along with some distant rustling. After a moment of silence, the Prussian jumped in surprise when something cold wrapped around his neck. His head twisted around to see his friend smiling at him as he tied a bright red ribbon around his throat.
"Hey!" he shouted, trying to pull away from the man.
France just kept on grinning as he finished the bow. "Don't worry, mon cher, this should work."
He eyed him suspiciously, but allowed him to add a tag to the red material.
"Since you are incapable of going through with your proposal in your current state," the Frenchman continued, "I have come up with a solution." The man stepped away from him, his sapphire eyes admiring his work. "You shall offer yourself as a gift."
France could probably tell by his expression—horse or not—that he wanted to punch him. The man quickly raised his hands defensively with a sheepish smile. "Hey, at least this way you still get to go to see Hungary, oui?" He glanced at the clock again and started pushing the Prussian in the general direction of the door. He snatched the ring off of the desk before going and opening the door. "Anyway, we better get going before we're late."
The tip of the Prussian's ears grazed the top of the door frame as he followed his friend out into the hallway. It felt a bit weird, walking in a hotel as a horse. It wasn't normal—none of this was, honestly—and he felt out of place as the Frenchman led him towards the lobby.
They stopped at the end of the hall, surveying the group of people and employees in the lobby.
France sighed and glanced up at him, patting his mane. "Ah, mon ami, I guess you'll have to make a run for it. I highly doubt the bellhop will just let me walk out of here with you. Hungary's house isn't far from here, oui?"
The blonde left his side and began strolling across the lobby, giving winks and coos at nearby maids, making them blush like crazy. He pushed open the door and glanced around casually, conveniently leaving the door wide open.
Not missing the opportunity, Prussia decided to put on a show. He reared up and gave a loud whinnying sound, causing everyone to turn to him in surprise. As soon as his front legs hit the ground, he took off out the door and down the sidewalk, astonishing every bystander in his wake.
Testing out his new set of legs, he took off, his hooves clacking loudly on the concrete. Weaving in and out of crowds, jumping across walkways, car horns blaring, people screaming—it was all kind of hilarious. Not to mention, he was quite enjoying the speed he was getting; and as the paved town around him disintegrated into dirt roads and farmlands, he found that he got much better traction on the grass than the asphalt.
Prussia slowed his pace, his lungs heaving in large amounts of air as he kept his pace at a trot. He craned his head around to look behind him, not a trace of the town left in sight. "Okay," he gasped to himself. "That was kinda awesome."
Ever the car fanatic, he thought, Ha, so this is real horsepower, eh? I wish my bruder knew about this spell so I could race him and his precious BMW. I bet I'd leave him in the dust!
He turned his head back and kept his eyes forward for the rest of his journey. Hungary's home, he knew, was an old ranch settled on several hundred acres of land that included rolling hills, a forest, and a lake. She didn't farm anymore, like in the past, but she still kept some sheep and chickens out in her barn. It was quite a drive from her home to the city of Budapest for work, but she refused to leave the centuries old mansion.
As the large brown and gold ranch began cresting over the top of a hill he was climbing, he started to get cold feet—or hooves—or whatever.
What if she didn't like the idea of getting a horse as a gift? What if she sent him away? He wasn't against realizing just how ridiculous that kind of thinking was, anyway, given the situation.
Prussia brushed off the notion, forcing nonchalance. "Nah," he said. "She wouldn't give back a gift if it was from the awesome me! Or, if it was the awesome me. Right?"
Avoiding the cars and people out in front of Hungary's estate, he opted for the longer route around the side, giving the mansion a wide birth. What would it do to have her spot him right away? That would ruin the surprise—at least for him anyway. Though, it was kind of easy to spot a bright white horse with a shiny red bow tied around its neck trotting across the grassland.
He quickened his pace once more and came around the back of the barn. It was stories taller than him, despite his height upgrade, and the once blue paint had faded to a warm grey. The wood was still strong, though, if a bit worn.
The Prussian peaked one of his scarlet eyes around the corner of the barn. Good. No one was there. He would go and wait out in front of the barn so that when Hungary came out the side door later she could easily spot him.
Ducking his head low, he slowly made his way around the side of the barn, creeping silently across the grass. Stationing himself in front of the barn doors, he kept his profile to the house, showing off his horsey frame and the pretty red bow attached to him.
Oh god, Lizzie can't see me like this!
Not only was it embarrassing enough that he'd turned into a pale white horse with a glistening silver mane, tail and hooves—like one of England's fruity unicorns or something—but his hair, mane, whatever, was so freakin' long! Like, girly long! His tail even brushed the backs of his ankles!
Not to mention, aside from the frilly bow he was wearing, he was completely nude.
Ah, I can't do this, he thought, breaking his stance. He began moving back towards the side of the barn.
He stopped himself. This isn't like me. Of course the awesome me can do this! He went back to his spot.
No, I can't do it. She'll laugh at me!
Don't be stupid, of course I can do this. My sheer awesomeness will make her faint at the very sight of me!
If I do make her faint, though, that would be terrible.
No, she won't faint, she's tougher than that. I should know—I've been hit with that skillet of hers enough times to prove it. But . . .
And so there he waited, pacing back and forth in indecision, wearing down a line in the lawn. The Prussian's new ears allowed him to listen in on the chatter and music coming from inside the house. He'd stopped his worrying once or twice to look towards the kitchen bay windows, trying to get a glimpse of the party. His looks were wistful, and he was jealous that he couldn't join in on the festivities.
Though, after this little stunt the last alcohol I drank pulled on me , I don't think I would have even had a beer for awhile, he thought.
There were quite a few countries celebrating the woman's birthday. Austria, of course, was there. Stupid aristocrat, always stealing his thunder. And Liechtenstein, escorted by her brother at all times. France, Italy, and his own brother had arrived a half hour after he did. Some other female countries were there, like Taiwan, Belgium, and even Ukraine. Poland had showed up because they were 'Like, total besties,' and he'd dragged Lithuania with him. Japan had showed up with Taiwan, half for Hungary and half to see his old Axis buddies.
The sun had begun to dip below the horizon, signaling the party's end with bright oranges and pinks dusting the sky. Prussia's legs were aching as he watched everyone shuffle back to their cars—Hungary was an early to bed, early to rise sort of person, after all, but he never saw the woman herself as she sent her guests off.
He did, however, get a glimpse of his little brother. The blonde German was wearing a stern expression as usual, leaning up against the side of the rental car with a drunken Italy by his side. But his tight blue eyes revealed worry and confusion, his mouth set in a grim line.
Prussia's stomach growled and he dropped his gaze to his silver hooves. His brother was probably fretting over him. For a moment he wondered if France had told the German what had happened to him. However, judging from the fact that the blonde hadn't tried to contact him at all during the party, he probably didn't.
Psh, he'll be fine, he thought. Francis will most likely tell him after they leave.
That sounded doubtful, even to him.
His heart began to throb. What if there wasn't a way for him to transform back into himself? What if he was stuck like this, forced to live out the rest of his life as a horse? What if he lost his immortality? Only able to live a few years more thanks to his horse body? He'd be leaving behind his sweet little brother, one he'd carefully raised all by himself all those years into the proud country that he is today. He'd be leaving behind his friends, Spain and France—even if France knew. Their trio would be broken. They wouldn't be able to hang out anymore. They wouldn't be able to play video games or football or pull pranks on other countries or tease his brother or dote upon the Italians or run from Spain's bull or race cars or enjoy beers together or . . . or . . .
He felt big globs of water forming in his large, round eyes but he willed them not to fall.
And Lizzie . . . I won't ever get to speak to her again. I won't get to propose. Or laugh with her. Or hold her. Or kiss her . . .
One, rogue tear defied him, streaking down his face and leaving a small trail of wet fur in its wake before dripping off his jaw, plopping onto the dirt.
"Being a horse blows," he muttered, kicking at the ground with his right hoof.
Approaching footsteps instantly snapped him out of his depression and he lifted his head to see the Frenchman walking towards him. He trotted over to the man, happy for some contact after hours of waiting.
"Bonjour, Gilbert." France gave a small laugh, pressing his palm against the nose that brushed against his shoulder. His eyes, however, were saddened and his smile a little forced. Since the blonde always wore his heart on his sleeve, he looked one step away from crying tears of his own.
Prussia looked at him, his eyes narrowing in worry. "What's wrong?" he asked, even though he knew the man couldn't understand him. So he nipped at the man's shoulder again to show his interest.
France seemed to get the point. "Ah, mon ami, all is not well," he started, his accent thickening as his voice shook. The horse nodded his head at him, urging him to go on. "Well, I just got off the phone with Norway and he said that there is no potion or spell to change you back. He said that if the spell doesn't wear off in a few days, that you will be stuck . . . like this."
For a moment the Prussian didn't respond. He let what the man just said sink in, his brain slowly rebooting from the shock.
Then his eyes widened in terror and his ears pinned back, a sharp, neighing sound following suit. What? How can this be happening? How can any of this really be happening?! He began pacing again back and forth in front of the Frenchman quickly with his tail swishing, panicking for the second time that day.
Then he stopped, letting his ears and tail droop as he lowered his head to look back at his best friend.
France was holding himself together better than he usually would have. He was still standing there with that fake smile, eyes shining, but no tears fell down his pale cheeks. His hands, which had been dead by his side while talking, were now cupped around the small, velvet box being held out to him.
Prussia glanced from him to the box and back again.
France stepped closer to him, pressing the box against his mug. "Here, mon frère," he whispered. "It is not mine to give."
The silver-maned horse understood and charily picked up the box with his lips, since in this case he was clearly unable to use his hands. As soon as he relieved the box from the man, he found himself in a hug. France's arms tightened around his neck, fingers gripping his mane strongly. The Prussian felt subdued once again and pressed his chin against the man's back, doing his best to return the embrace.
The Frenchman pulled away after a minute, sniffling. He whipped out a dainty cloth and began dabbing at his eyes, laughing and smiling a little more truthfully.
"I can't believe it, just look at me. I'm getting all flustered over something that may not even happen," he chuckled, putting the cloth away. Prussia managed an eye roll and huffed at the man's hair again, trying to lighten the mood. France patted his muzzle one last time before turning around and walking back to Germany's car. "Who am I kidding, huh? The only thing that's going to end up terrible is the fact that I am going to smell like horse the whole way home." He laughed again and gave a playful wave of his hand. He didn't look back.
Prussia's could admit the stab of pain in his heart at watching as his friend and brother drove off down Hungary's long gravel driveway, the last ones to leave. Their taillights soon disappeared in the distance and he was left alone, crickets chirping at his back.
The sound of a sliding glass door opening made his heart race and he snapped his gaze to the woman exiting the house, his spirits brightening the slightest.
The setting sun illuminated the lovely peach sundress Hungary was wearing, a white, knitted shawl covering her shoulders. Her feet were adorned by sequined sandals and bright orange and red colored rocks hung around her neck and from her earlobes. Her lips were painted a glossy pink, cheeks rosy and framed by her brown curls.
She's so beautiful.
And she smiled at him, racing across the lawn to where he was gawking. He quickly remembered that he was a stallion and went to take up strong pose. He turned so his bow was showing again and he pulled his neck back, keeping his head high and lifting his right foreleg to complete the stance. He probably looked ridiculous, but at that moment he couldn't bring himself to care.
When Hungary stopped beside him, she gasped, reaching up to pet his silver-white mane. "Look at you," she said. "So you are the special gift France was talking about."
He pressed into her hands more, loving the feel of her thin fingers combing through his hair. He relaxed his stance, turning to look at her better.
"Of all the things to get me for my birthday, he got me a horse. He couldn't have just gotten me a dress or some jewelry—it had to be a horse." The woman giggled, rubbing her hand across his cheek—which he knew would have been blushing if he could. She read the tag attached to his bow and sighed, smirking. "If Gilbert went through all the trouble of getting you here, then he should at least have been here to give you to me himself."
"Oh, you have no idea," he said, his words coming out as a low rumble, a nicker, and it sounded a bit like laughter.
"How did you get here, I wonder," Hungary continued, still petting his mane and cheek. "I didn't see a trailer pull up."
Prussia shook his head, a piece of hair flying out of his eyes.
She hummed in amusement. "So that's a no? Well, then. Did you travel here all by yourself, on foot?"
He gave another nicker and bobbed his head up and down, trying his best at communication. Jeez, I feel silly.
Hungary gave another giggle, patting his shoulder. "My, what a brave horse you are for attempting such a feat! Hmm, you do look a lot like your master, huh? But I guess since I'm your master now, you don't look anything like me! And such a pretty white—" Her hand ran against his side, from his hip to his shoulder, sending a small tremor through him.
"Surely your bravery is not just for little old me?" she laughed, talking to him exuberantly.
He twisted his head around to tap at the hand on his shoulder. His heart was beating rapidly as he pressed the velvet box against her fingers.
Hungary looked down at her hand curiously as she took the box from his lips. She blinked down at the object for a moment, her eyebrows rocketing towards her hairline as she cautiously opened the lid. A hand flew up to cover the small gasp that escaped from her lips. The woman tentatively plucked the engagement ring from the velvet, twirling it around in between her fingers, watching the fading light sparkle off the diamonds.
"Is this . . ?" Hungary glanced up at him, half expecting the horse to reply. He did his best, though, and tilted his head down in confirmation. His heart was beating so fast he thought it would bust right out of his oversized chest. The woman gave a bright smile and slipped the jewelry onto her ring finger, lifting up her hand and admiring the piece. "It's magnificent," she whispered.
Hungary gave the horse a sly glance before wrapping her arms around his head, hugging him to her. His face would have been a deep red at that point because she was currently smothering his nose into her chest.
"Oh, I wish he was here," she murmured, nuzzling in between his ears.
I am here, he thought, wishing so badly that he could say it aloud. I'm right here.
The woman gave a scratch to one of his ears and he flicked it appreciatively before she pulled away, staring up at him with those dazzling emerald eyes. "My brave, white stallion, I shall name you . . . Szerető."
The Prussian tilted his head at her slightly. He knew quite a bit of Hungarian, just some conversational stuff that he'd picked up through the years, but he had no idea what she's just said. Though, he liked the way the syllables rolled off her tongue—the weird 'sera-too'—it was kind of cute.
"Come on, my Szerető," she cooed at him, tugging on his mane gently to lead him towards the barn. "Let's get you settled into your new home."
…xXx…
Almost a year had passed since the Prussian had transformed into his current predicament and he had quietly adjusted to his new way of life, eventually coming to terms that he probably wouldn't be returning back to normal.
Hungary would get up at six o'clock with the sunrise every morning and come out to greet him in the barn, along with the sheep and the chickens. She would let the sheep out of their corral to spend the day grazing the pastures and feed him and the chickens—albeit it took him awhile to get used to the grain she gave him, but at least it was filling. He really missed meat, and beer. Then she would brush out his mane and tail until both were free of tangles, telling him her plans for the day.
On weekdays, she would finish brushing him and clean out the stables before heading back up to the house to shower. Then she would get dressed and head off to work, leaving him until she returned at dusk. She would then collect the sheep, feed the animals again, and brush his mane once more, chatting about her day. Then she would retire for the night.
The weekends were, however, the most fun for him.
On Saturday, the woman would get up at the crack of dawn, like usual, and head to the market for the early bird sales. She would always return with many bundles of groceries and sacks of feed for him and the chickens. Then, once they were fed again, the sheep were set free to roam for the day and even the chickens were allowed to frolic in a gated-in area of the pasture.
A nearby farmer would come and drop off a few bales of hay for her for the week. Hungary would then let him out of his stable to run with the sheep as she cleaned the barn and replaced the hay bedding for all the animals.
Sunday's were lazy. She would attend to the animals per usual and start the laundry in the morning. By the afternoon, she would finish washing all the clothes and linens and hang them out to dry. Hungary would strap a saddle on him and they'd spend the day running across the meadows and relaxing by the lake as the chickens and sheep were left to their own devices.
Prussia had been quite surprised, actually, on how well behaved the other barnyard animals were. They seemed to know what to do, when to do it, what day they could do it, and where they were supposed to be at a certain time. It had at least taken him a couple weeks to get into the routine of things.
And, shockingly enough, he'd found that he didn't really mind all that much that he was a horse anymore. He'd gotten to see a side of his Lizzie that he'd never seen before, and she would always chat with him and joke around, playing with all the animals when she could.
Though, the fact that she talked to him much more than the other animals let him realize just how lonely she was. The fact that she lived alone and talked to her barn animals every day would come off as lonely, wouldn't it? She always kept the ring he'd given her on, and sometimes while brushing him she would get such a sad look on her face that it made his chest hurt. He would always press his snout against her cheek to comfort her and she would snap out of it, smiling up at him and saying, "Don't worry, Szerető. They'll find him any day now."
Which just solidified his heart break. Ever since the night of her birthday, he—Gilbert Beilschmidt, Prussia incarnate—had been declared missing. Germany, she would tell him, kept searching for him everywhere for the first few months. His brother traveled all throughout his country and Hungary, and eventually went to other countries like England and even Austria, spreading the word that he was, indeed, missing.
Some of the countries told his brother to give up, that he had probably already passed since he was no longer an official country. Other countries, like Spain, helped the German in his search, asking for information across the ocean from America and Canada. Germany would call Hungary every night to give her an update, since the word had quickly spread about the horse and ring he'd left her before disappearing.
As the days, weeks, months dragged on, his brother had gradually stopped calling. He believed that Germany was probably losing hope, or just had nothing new to report.
Hungary adapted as best she could, talking to him so she didn't have to keep her emotions all to herself.
Like she was now. She had taken the saddle off of him after wrangling the other animals back to their stables, and was now running the brush through his hair again. "I haven't heard anything from Germany again today," she said. He gave her a pitying look.
"I'm starting to believe that Gilbert knew to send you to me." Hungary hugged his head to her chest like she did whenever she was about to cry. "I think he knew that he would disappear, after all this time, and sent you to keep me company in his stead."
He nuzzled against her, his heart thumping as he watched those olive green eyes of hers begin to drip with tears.
"You have me," he hummed, staring at the woman lovingly, willing her to understand.
She managed a smile through her tears and gave a kiss to his nose. "Yes, I have you, Szeretőm."
My lover.
...xXx...
Oui - Yes
Mon ami – My friend
Merde - Shit
Mon frère – My brother
Bruder – Brother
Szerető – Lover
Szeretőm –My lover
This was originally my entry for the third round of Fanime-Sensei Strikes Back's Hetalia Romance contest several years ago here (wow so long ago!)
Hope you all enjoyed this sad little fic! \(qwq)/
~WhisperWeeper